Weak At The Knees
by Gil Shalos1
Summary: Abbie doesn't feel well. Jack's too busy to notice. Set somewhere between Punk and Harm. chapter one revised
1. Abbie Tells It

**_Weak At The Knees_**

Characters: Jack McCoy, Abbie Carmichael, Lennie Briscoe, Rey Curtis

Summary: Abbie doesn't feel well. Jack's too busy to notice. Somewhere between _Punk_ and _Harm_.Disclaimer: I do not own "Law and Order", nor any of the characters therein. I am making no profit from this.

Feedback extremely welcome

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_Abbey__ Tells It _

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Jack McCoy took the stairs of the courthouse two at a time. Abbie Carmichael struggled behind him. At the top of the stairs she had to stop, digging a hand in her side at the sharp pain in her gut, vision swimming.

"You coming?" McCoy asked.

"Right there," she said, and straightened up. Jesus, but she felt like crap. _Maybe flu_. _Some stomach bug_. She'd been nauseous for days, unable to keep anything but coffee and water down for the last twenty-four hours, and the lack of sustenance was making her dizzy.

_And tired. So, so tired_.

McCoy was holding the door for her and Abbie gritted her teeth and hustled across the portico.

"You okay?" he asked, frowning.

"Fine," Abbie lied. "Late night."

"A whole string of them," McCoy said, and Abbie knew he was referring to the heavy caseload that had them both burning the midnight oil in the office. She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

McCoy ushered her through the crowded corridors of the courthouse with a hand in the small of her back, sheltering her from the worst of the jostling, and when they reached the bar table he poured her a glass of water and watched until she took a token sip.

"Really, Jack, I'm fine," she said, and managed a smile that seemed to convince him.

The plea hearing passed in a blur. Abbie thanked god it was a high enough profile case that McCoy had wanted to handle it personally. She kept quiet and managed to hand him the papers he needed when he needed them. The room spun when she stood up to follow him out of the courtroom after, but she kept her eyes fixed on his back and kept walking.

They were on their way back to Hogan Place when her gut started cramping and rolling again. Abbie concentrated on breathing deeply, fighting the nausea, trying to keep up with McCoy. She was doing okay until the sharp jerk of the elevator stopping on ten made her stomach heave.

"Catch you up," she blurted to McCoy, and bolted for the washroom, shouldering aside the people waiting for the lift. She didn't make it to the stall and ended up retching into the sink, barely able to stand against the force of the spasms, hands white knuckled on the porcelain.

Nothing in her stomach but a little coffee and coffee grounds, testament to her bad habit of draining the very dregs out of the pot. Abbie ran the tap to wash the basin clean and splashed water on her face.

"Are you all right?"

Abbie looked in the mirror to see a slim blonde watching her with concern. She struggled to put a name to the face. _Anna – no Alex something – Sex Crimes_. "Yeah," she said hoarsely. "Something I ate." Then she looked at her own face in the mirror and realised why Alex didn't look convinced. She was white as paper except for her bloodshot eyes and the shadows under them.

"Do you want me to get someone for you?" Alex asked, coming closer.

Abbie splashed her face again. When she'd blinked the water out of her eyes she saw that Alex was offering her a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. "Thanks. No, there's no need. I've got a pre-trial to get to."

"You're Carmichael, right, from Trials?"

"Yeah, and you're Alex Cabot from Special Victims."

" Carmichael, you look like crap. You look like you should be in the hospital, or at least in bed. I've got a doctor I call when I absolutely can't afford to get out of the office. He'll come to Hogan Place, check you out, and if he can patch you up he will."

" Dr Margolis," Abbie said. "I know. You're not the only one who uses him. I'll give him a call." She straightened up, wiped the last of the water from her face. "I'm fine, Alex, thanks, it's just 'flu or bad Chinese or something." Gritting her teeth against the pain in her gut she managed to straighten up. "Hey, good luck with the Verensky case."

"Thanks," Alex said. "We're gonna nail him to the wall."

Abbie felt Alex's sceptical gaze on her back all the way out the door.

McCoy looked sharply at her when she came in late to the conference but Abbie couldn't spare enough attention from how bad she felt to really care. The meeting passed in a blur and she knew she'd have to find a way to ask McCoy later what the outcome was. Before she knew it the defendant and his lawyer were on their way out the door and McCoy was on his feet.

Abbie stood up and sat straight back down again as the room spun and slipped sideways. She fanned her papers out with numb fingers and gathered them back together, waiting for the greyness to recede from the edges of her vision.

"You coming?" McCoy asked, his voice barely audible over the buzzing in her ears.

"Yeah," Abbie said. "I'll catch up." Her own voice sounded distant and faint. Her face and hands were cold and numb and she had to concentrate to see the papers swimming in front of her.

"Abs, we're late already." McCoy was still waiting in the doorway. "What's the matter?"

"Sorry," Abbie mumbled. She swept the papers up and stood. The room spun again, got greyer and greyer …

Then there was a space of nothing but grey, and then McCoy was beside her, holding her by the arm hard enough to hurt. Her papers were scattered around her feet and the room was still slipping and turning. McCoy was a still point, the hard grip on her elbow anchoring her and she leaned against him, trying to pull herself together.

"Are you all right?" McCoy asked her, his voice softer and closer than she'd ever heard it. Abbie tried to raise her head from his shoulder to answer him but as she did the room lurched upwards and slipped away from her into darkness.

Later, she had no idea how much later, she realised she could hear McCoy a long way away.

"Abbie. Abbie. Abbie, can you hear me? Abbie. Abbie!"

His voice came closer out of the dimness around her. Suddenly everything was clear. Abbie realised she was sitting back in her chair, folded double like a rag doll. McCoy held her there with his hands on her shoulders, calling her name. His voice was patient but with an edge of urgency.

She tried to sit up, but McCoy stopped her. "Sit still, sit still." His voice was gentle and Abbie felt him stroke her hair. "It's okay. Sit still." Gratefully, she gave in. _So tired …_she rested her head on her knees and sat quietly, feeling McCoy run his hand over her hair. It was an odd gesture from the EADA but it was oddly soothing, too. After a moment McCoy's hand moved to her shoulders and he began to gently rub her back. Abbie felt tears start in her eyes, easy tears prompted by her fatigue and weakness.

As she sat with her head on her knees and McCoy's comforting hand on her back, Abbie tried and failed to remember the last time another human being had touched her gently, kindly.

Sometime later McCoy spoke again, again in that calm and reassuring tone she'd never heard from him before. "Abbie, do you think that if I helped you, you could walk down the hall to my office?"

"Sure," she said. He was Jack McCoy, EADA. There was only one possible answer to anything he asked of her. "Of course I can."

"Why don't you sit up - slowly now – there you go. How do you feel?"

Abbie sat up, fought a wave of nausea. McCoy was looking at her with none of the impatience she expected. His expression was one of concern, and his brown eyes had the warmth she saw sometimes when they sparred over a case.

"I think I'm OK, Jack. I'm sorry – "

"Sshh," he told her. "Put your arm over my shoulder – there you go – I've got you – up you get."

Abbie was surprised at how easily McCoy supported her, for a desk-bound lawyer. Slim as he was, the arm around her waist was inflexible. Abbie realised he would not let her fall.

Leaning against Jack McCoy, with his arm around her waist and him taking most of her weight, Abbie managed to walk out of the room. As they started down the hall to McCoy's office she saw Briscoe and Curtis coming towards them.

" Mr McCoy, we were coming to see you for the pre-trial on Tennati," Briscoe said. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"No, she isn't," McCoy answered. "Can you ask Colleen to call an ambulance, please?"

"On it," Briscoe said, and turned back down the hall.

"I don't need –" Abbie said.

"Don't argue," McCoy said.

"Here we go," Rey Curtis said, coming around to Abbie's other side and supporting her. "Let's get you lying down, Ms Carmichael."

She greyed out again before they got to McCoy's office, had a confused recollection of the world turned sideways, then found herself on McCoy's couch, covered by something warm and heavy. _Blanket._ She opened her eyes to see McCoy looking down at her from a chair he'd pulled up beside the couch.

"The ambulance is on its way," he told her.

"I'm coming down with the 'flu," Abbie said. "Or what you had. I don't need an ambulance. I thought I'd be alright for the day – I'm sorry – "

"You passed out twice in ten minutes," McCoy said. "You're going to the hospital. Coming down with the 'flu, huh?"

"Fighting it off for a couple of days," Abbie said, and then felt her stomach turn over painfully and sweat start out on her face, "Jack – I think I'm gonna throw up –"

"Here." He grabbed the wastepaper bin and held it for her as she heaved herself up on her elbow and leaned over the edge of the couch. The spasm of retching was violent and left her dizzy and shaking, her mouth tasting of bile and copper. McCoy was talking again, a long way away, angry at her or at someone, and she tried to answer, because that was important, answering when McCoy asked her a question, if she wanted to keep this job, and she did. And she should remind him of the Tartosky deposition, and if she was going to the hospital someone had to go to the Murphy arraignment this afternoon – she tried push herself up but her arms wouldn't hold her weight and rolling over was suddenly more complicated than she could manage.

"Here you go," McCoy said gently, and Abbie felt his arms around her. He lifted her a little, turned her onto her back but didn't lay her down. Abbie leaned her head against his shoulder and fought greyness.

"Tartosky," she said. Her tongue and lips wouldn't co-operate and the name came out slurred.

"I'll handle Tartosky. And your arraignments. Don't worry about your cases. The ambulance will be here soon. Briscoe, put a hurry up on the damn ambulance, will you?"

"I don't feel too good," Abbie confessed.

"You've looked better, but you'll be okay," McCoy said. He smoothed her hair away from her face and she saw blood on his cuff. "Don't talk. Don't talk."

"They're in the lift," Briscoe said from the doorway.

"Listen, Lennie's going to go with you to the hospital, okay? Is there anyone you want me to call?"

"Got no one," she told him.

"Not true," McCoy said soberly.

Then the EMTs took him away from her, and a little while after that they took her away from him, away from the whole office, into a strange world of white walls and bright lights and sirens and people in blue and green pyjama suits. But Lennie Briscoe came with her and Abbie hung on tight to his hand all the way, hung on tight to the proof he offered that this wasn't where she belonged, hung on for dear life right up until one of the nurses stuck a needle in her drip line and sent her spinning slowly down into the silent dark.


	2. Jack Tells It

**_Jack Tells It_**

* * *

Jack McCoy was not by nature a patient man. 

He had been uncharacteristically patient all afternoon, methodically dealing with each matter on his desk, reassigning Abbie Carmichael's cases, hurrying from arraignment to pre-trial conference to deposition and back. He had not rung the hospital. Colleen had passed a message that Ms Carmichael was doing okay, and that was all they'd heard.

Jack did not ring the hospital. He did not watch his phone in the expectation that it would ring. He did not look at the blood on his shirt-sleeve. He did, one after the other, everything that needed to be done at the office, and a few things that probably could have waited until tomorrow, until at 7pm Adam Schiff stuck his head in the door and said:

"Get the hell out of here, Jack, what are you trying to prove?"

And then Jack was done being patient. He grabbed his coat and hat and headed for the lift, jabbing the call button repeatedly until the car arrived. He almost ran across the lobby and out into the street, and if he hadn't got a cab in the first ten seconds there might have been murder done.

In the cab, drumming his fingers impatiently on his knee, he was trapped in idleness. He tried to remember the last case he'd been clearing off his desk before he left the office but his mind had left work matters the minute Arthur had pulled away his defence. The cab was taking him to the hospital, and it was to the hospital his mind turned.

_Fighting it off for a couple of days_, Abbie'd said through white lips. _I should have noticed, _Jack thought. She'd been pale yesterday – and the day before. _I thought she was tired. We're **both **tired. _

_She skipped dinner last night_, he remembered. They'd worked late, as usual, and at eight he'd looked up from the witness statement he was studying. "Chinese?" he asked.

"Not for me," Abbie said.

"Prefer something else?"

"I'll grab something later."

She'd looked pale and pinched. _I thought she was tired_. But she hadn't been tired, she'd been ill.

_And this morning, when she got out of breath on the courthouse steps … _He'd seen she was struggling, but it wasn't until she'd collapsed in the conference room he'd realised – _he'd paid enough attention to realise_ – that her repeated denials were lies. She was not _fine_. She was a long way from it.

_I should have pushed. I should have seen. _

Jack had not had the chance – he had not given himself the chance – to remember those moments, but the enforced idleness of the cab let his mind wander …

* * *

"You coming?" Jack said impatiently. 

"Yeah," Abbie said slowly. "I'll catch up."

"Abs, we're late already. What's the matter?"

"Sorry," Abbie mumbled. She swept the papers up and stood. McCoy stood in the doorway, hand on the doorhandle, the very epitome of _important man in a hurry_, of _important man delayed by dilatory assistant_. But the pose didn't have the effect of hurrying Abbie Carmichael along. She turned slowly towards him –

Her eyes were glassy, staring right through him, and she was deathly pale beneath her year-round tan. Jack took a step toward her as she swayed, and then dropped his briefcase and lunged forward as the folders slipped from Abbie's hands and her eyes rolled up and her knees buckled.

Jack caught her arm and pulled her against him before she could fall, then got his other arm around her waist. For a moment Abbie seemed to come back to herself, steadying, leaning against him, struggling to get her balance. They stood in an almost-embrace, Jack listening to Abbie's shaky breathing and feeling the weight of her body against his.

"Are you all right?' he asked at last. Abbie lifted her head as if to speak, and then her head tilted back and her eyes closed and she sagged limply in his grasp.

"Abbie!" Jack half-carried her back to her chair and as she began to come round again, lowered her to sit in it, bending her forward until her head rested on her knees. "Abbie, can you hear me? Abbie?"

She wasn't the first person to swoon in his conference room. He'd seen that pallor and slackness on the faces of over-wrought witnesses, defendants suddenly presented with uncontrovertible evidence of guilt, once a defence attorney realising his client was in fact guilty of the heinous murder of which he was accused. But Abbie hadn't been tossed any curve balls in today's conference. He touched the back of his fingers to her forehead and found her skin cold and clammy.

_Get help_. But he didn't want to leave her. _Jesus__, she's pale. And so cold! _

_Keep calm. Keep **her** calm. _"Abbie." He used his most soothing voice, the one for fragile witnesses. "Abbie, can you hear me? Abbie. Abbie!"

He felt the normal living tension come back to her shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. She moved, tried to sit up, and he stopped her. "Sit still. Sit still. Hush now." She looked crumpled and crushed in on herself, and McCoy impulsively smoothed his hand over her hair, as if he were someone who had the right to offer comfort to Abbie Carmichael, as if she were someone who had the right to expect comfort from Jack McCoy. She seemed to relax a little, and he ventured to rub her shoulders.

Jack could see the edge of her face, one closed eye, and could see the colour return a little. "Abbie, do you think that if I helped you, you could walk down the hall to my office?"

"Sure," she said.

"Why don't you sit up - slowly now – there you go. How do you feel?"

"I think I'm okay, Jack. I'm sorry – "

"Sshh," he told her. "Put your arm over my shoulder – there you go – I've got you – up you get."

She stood on her own for a second and then slumped against him. Jack held her up, wondering if he should simply carry her, wondering if he'd spent enough time in the gym this year to sweep her up in his arms, wondering how her dignity would take to a fireman's lift. Then she lifted her head from his shoulder and took a wobbly step forward.

He helped her from the room and into the corridor, looking around for someone he could send for help, and saw Briscoe and Curtis heading down the corridor toward them.

" Mr McCoy, we were coming to see you for the pre-trial on Tennati," Briscoe said, and then, concerned, to Carmichael "Hey, kiddo, you okay?"

"No, she isn't," Jack answered. "Can you ask Colleen to call an ambulance, please?"

"On it," Briscoe said, and turned back down the hall.

"I don't need –" Abbie started to say, her voice feeble.

"Don't argue," Jack said. He would take care of her in this rare moment of weakness, even if he had to fight her to do it. He didn't stop to consider his motivations. "It'll be alright."

"Here we go," Rey Curtis said, coming around to Abbie's other side and supporting her. "Let's get you lying down, Ms Carmichael."

They got almost to his office before Jack felt Abbie's head droop against his shoulder again. He tightened his grip as she started to fold up.

"I got her," he said to Curtis, and picked Abbie up in his arms and carried her the short distance to his office. Briscoe was there with Colleen Petraky, the DA's senior secretary. Briscoe jumped to open the door and Jack carried Abbie into his office and laid her on his couch.

"Ambulance is on the way," Briscoe said. "You gonna ride with her?"

"I can't, I'll have two case loads to manage." It was a legitimate reason: it made the decision for him. "Can you go with her?"

"Yeah, no problem. She's a good kid."

"She's not a kid, Lennie," Jack said.

"She looks bad, man," Curtis said.

Abbie did, indeed, look bad, wisps of hair clinging to her sweaty face, the only colour there the bluish shadows beneath her eyes. Jack got a blanket from the filing cabinet that he kept handy for nights when he worked too late to even pretend to go home and spread it over her, then pulled a chair over to the couch and sat.

Abbie opened her eyes.

"The ambulance is on its way," he told her.

"I'm coming down with the 'flu," Abbie said. Her voice was weak. She raised a trembling hand to brush her hair away from her face. Jack reached to do it for her, then took her hand in his own. "Or what you had. I don't need an ambulance. I thought I'd be alright for the day – I'm sorry – "

"You passed out twice in ten minutes," Jack said. "You're going to the hospital. Coming down with the 'flu, huh?"

"Fighting it off for a couple of days," Abbie said, and then gasped a little. " Jack – I think I'm gonna throw up –"

"Here." He grabbed the wastepaper bin and held it for her as she heaved herself up on her elbow and leaned over the edge of the couch. She threw up violently, shoulders heaving, and when the spasms finished she stayed slumped over the edge of the couch. Jack turned to put the wastepaper basket aside and saw that his cuff was spotted – spotted bright red. He looked in the basket and saw the discarded pages of a draft summation splashed in the same bright blood.

"Oh Jesus Christ," he said. "She's bleeding. We need that ambulance, Lennie, get it here, dammit! Abbie, can you hear me, Abbie?"

She moved a little, feebly, and he lifted her, cradled her against his shoulder. There was blood on her lips and chin. She blinked, slurred a word that he recognised as the name of a witness they were due to depose.

"I'll handle Tartosky. And your arraignments. Don't worry about your cases. The ambulance will be here soon. Briscoe, put a hurry up on the damn ambulance, will you?"

"I don't feel too good," Abbie confessed. Jack imagined he heard fear in her voice and felt his heart constrict.

"You've looked better, but you'll be okay." Jack said. He smoothed her hair away from her face. "Don't talk. Don't talk."

"They're in the lift," Briscoe said from the doorway.

"Listen, Lennie's going to go with you to the hospital, okay? Is there anyone you want me to call?"

"Got no one," she told him.

"Not true," Jack said soberly.

* * *

And now he was on his way to the hospital to find out if his promise had been true. The cab pulled up outside Mercy General and Jack flung a twenty at the driver with a curt "Keep the change" and bolted into the waiting room. 

And there was Lennie Briscoe, sitting directly under the sign that said "Please Turn OFF Your Mobiles."

"Where is she? _How_ is she?"

"She's in recovery. We can't see her yet. The doctor seemed to think things looked pretty good." Briscoe said.

"In _recovery_? She had surgery?" Jack said, sitting down beside Briscoe.

"Kinda, endo-something. She's got a stomach ulcer, and it's ruptured, and stuck a tube down her throat to sew it up or something."

"But she'll be OK?"

"They seem to think so. She lost a lot of blood, though. The doc said she'd probably been bleeding for a few days. Hey, here she is."

They both stood up as the doctor came towards them. "Are you Ms Carmichael's family?"

"Homicide," Briscoe said, and flashed his badge. At the doctor's raised eyebrows, Briscoe said: "So what can you tell us? Was she poisoned?"

"You think this is attempted homicide?" the doctor asked incredulously.

"We have to tick all the boxes when it's an ADA," Briscoe lied. "So tell us, what's the story?"

" Ms Carmichael had a peptic ulcer, which ruptured, causing internal bleeding," the doctor said. Jack though she looked to be about fifteen. "The bleeding had become quite severe before she presented to the ER and Ms Carmichael lost a lot of blood. Fortunately, we were able to stop the bleeding and transfuse her in time. At the moment she is in recovery. We don't anticipate any complications, and we expect her to make a complete recovery."

Jack realised how anxious he had been only when the doctor's words penetrated.

"Oh thank god," he said. "Thank god." He turned away from Briscoe and the doctor, hand to his face.

Briscoe gave him a moment, engaging the young doctor in small-talk, for which McCoy was grateful. When he mastered himself and turned back, Briscoe asked the doctor when they could see Carmichael.

"You can see her now," the doctor said. "But she's still coming out of the anaesthetic. She'll be pretty groggy."

"You go on," Briscoe said. "I'll call the office, let them know."

"Thanks, Lennie," Jack said. He followed the doctor down the hall.

Abbie _was _pretty groggy. Actually, Jack thought, she was totally off her face.

" Heyyyyy, Jack …." she said, her raspy voice even hoarser than it usually was. "… looking good … how ya doin'?"

"I'm okay, Abbie, how are you?" Jack said, coming to stand beside her bed.

"I'm pretty good," she said, and giggled.

"You're pretty stoned," Jack said, unable to keep from smiling at her.

"Yeah." She beckoned for him to come closer and when he leaned over, said in a hoarse stage whisper: "The drugs here are FABulous. Highly recommended."

"I'll bear it in mind." He smoothed her hair back, and she gave him a sleepy smile.

"That's nice. You're nice."

"Don't tell anyone," Jack said. "I have my reputation to protect."

"It'll be our secret. Shhhhhh." Abbie tried to raise her finger to her lips and nearly poked herself in the eye. Jack took her hand in his and lowered it gently back to her side.

"You won't remember a word of this tomorrow." Jack said.

"Then it'll be your secret."

"Your keen legal mind is always at work."

She frowned. "Am I really stoned?"

"You really are," Jack told her.

"Don't tell anyone. If I said anything dumb. Don't tell anyone."

"I won't," Jack promised.

"Not even me."

"Not even you," Jack said.

"That's what I love about you, Jack. You know when to keep a secret. Don't tell me I said that."

"That I know how to keep a secret?"

"That I love you. Don't tell me." Abbie's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Don't tell me, please?"

"I won't," Jack said, and smoothed her hair again. "I promise. Now get some rest."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" she asked plaintively.

"If you want me to be," Jack said. He took her hand. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

He watched as her eyelids fluttered closed and her breathing slowed. Her grip on his fingers eased as the slim tanned hand in his relaxed. Jack gently placed her hand back on the coverlet and pulled the visitors' chair a little closer to the bed, to where she'd see him if she woke.

He'd made a number of promises to Abbie Carmichael today, and Jack McCoy intended to keep all of them.

* * *

the end

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